Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1

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The want of sensibility which Charles showed when his aunt was parting
with her jewels to Mr. Carat, would have infallibly ruined him in the
opinion of most ladies. He took the trinkets up, one by one, without
ceremony, and examined them, asking his aunt and the jeweller questions
about the use and value of diamonds--about the working of the mines of
Golconda--about the shining of diamonds in the dark, observed by the
children of Cogi Hassan, the rope-maker, in the Arabian Tales--about the
experiment of Francis the First upon _melting_ of diamonds and rubies.
Mr. Carat was a Jew, and, though extremely cunning, profoundly ignorant.

"Dat king wash very grand fool, beg his majesty's pardon," said the Jew,
with a shrewd smile; "but kings know better nowadays. Heaven bless dere
majesties."

Charles had a great mind to vindicate the philosophic fame of Francis the
First, but a new idea suddenly started into his head.

"My dearest aunt," cried he, stopping her hand as she was giving her
diamond ear-rings to Mr. Carat--"stay, my dearest aunt, one instant, till
I have seen whether this is a good day for selling diamonds."

"O my dear young gentleman, no day in de Jewish calendar more proper for
de purchase," said the Jew.

"For the purchase! yes," said Charles; "but for the sale?"

"My love," said his aunt, "surely you are not so foolish as to think
there are lucky and unlucky days."

"No, I don't mean any thing about lucky and unlucky days," said Charles,
running up to consult the barometer; "but what I mean is not foolish
indeed: in some book I've read that the dealers in diamonds buy them when
the air is light, and sell them when it is heavy, if they can; because
their scales are so nice that they vary with the change in the
atmosphere. Perhaps I may not remember exactly the words, but that's the
sense, I know. I'll look for the words; I know whereabout to find them."
He jumped upon a chair, to get down the book.

"But, Master Charles," said the Jew, with a show of deference, "I will
not pretend to make a bargain with you--I see you know a great deal more
than I of these traffics."

To this flattery Charles made no answer, but continued looking for the
passage he wanted in his book. Whilst he was turning over the leaves, a
gentleman, a friend of Mrs. Howard, who had promised her to meet Mr.
Carat, came in. He was the gentleman formerly mentioned by the name of
_the traveller_: he was a good judge of diamonds, and, what is better, he
was a good judge of the human heart and understanding. He was much
pleased with Charles's ready recollection of the little knowledge he
possessed, with his eagerness to make that knowledge of use to his aunt,
and more with his perfect simplicity and integrity; for Charles, after a
moment's thought, turned to the Jew and said,--

"But the day that is good for my aunt must be bad for you. The buyers and
sellers should each have fair play. Mr. Carat, your weights should be
diamonds, and then the changes in the weight of the air would not signify
one way or the other.[3]"

[Footnote 3: This observation was literally made by a boy of ten years of
age.]

Mr. Carat smiled at this speech, but, suppressing his contempt for the
young gentleman, only observed, that he should most certainly follow Mr.
Charles's advice, whenever he _wash_ rich enough to have diamonds for
weights.

The traveller drew from his pocket a small book, took a pen, and wrote in
the title-page of it, _For one who will make a good use of it_; and, with
Mrs. Howard's permission, he gave the book to her nephew.

"I do not believe," said the gentleman, "that there is at present another
copy in England: I have just got this from France by a private hand."

The sale of his aunt's books appeared to Charles a much more serious
affair than the parting with her diamonds. He understood something of the
value of books, and he took a sorrowful leave of many which he had read,
and of many more which he had intended to read. Mrs. Howard selected a
few for her own use, and she allowed her nephew to select as many for
himself as she had done. He observed that there was a beautiful edition
of Shakspeare, which he knew his aunt liked particularly, but which she
did not keep, reserving instead of it Smith's Wealth of Nations, which
would in a few years, she said, be very useful to him. He immediately
offered his favourite Etudes de la Nature to redeem the Shakspeare; but
Mrs. Howard would not accept of it, because she justly observed, that she
could read Shakspeare _almost_ as well without its being in such a
beautiful binding. Her readiness to part with all the luxuries to which
she had been for many years accustomed, and the freedom and openness with
which she spoke of all her affairs to her nephew, made a great impression
upon his mind.

Those are mistaken who think that young people cannot be interested in
such things: if no mystery be made of the technical parts of business,
young people easily learn them, and they early take an interest in the
affairs of their parents, instead of learning to separate their own views
from those of their friends. Charles, young as he was, at this time, was
employed by his aunt frequently to copy, and sometimes to write, letters
of business for her. He drew out a careful inventory of all the furniture
before it was disposed of; he took lists of all the books and papers: and
at this work, however tiresome, he was indefatigable, because he was
encouraged by the hope of being useful. This ambition had been early
excited in his mind.

When Mrs. Howard had settled her affairs, she took a small neat house
near Westminster school[4], for the purpose of a boarding-house for some
of the Westminster boys. This plan she preferred, because it secured an
independent means of support, and at the same time enabled her, in some
measure, to assist in her nephew's education, and to enjoy his company.
She was no longer able to afford a sufficient salary to a well-informed
private tutor; therefore she determined to send Charles to Westminster
school; and, as he would board with her, she hoped to unite by this
scheme, as much as possible, the advantages of a private and of a public
education. Mr. Russell desired still to have the care of Mrs. Howard's
nephew; he determined to offer himself as a tutor at Westminster school;
and, as his acquirements were well known to the literary world, he was
received with eagerness.

[Footnote 4: See the account of Mrs. C. Ponten, in Gibbon's Life.]

"My dear boy," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, when he first went to
Westminster, "I shall not trouble you with a long chapter of advice: do
you remember that answer of the oracle, which seemed to strike you so
much the other day, when you were reading the life of Cicero?"

"Yes," said Charles, "I recollect it--I shall never forget it. When
Cicero asked how he should arrive at the height of glory, the oracle
answered, 'By making his own genius, and not the opinion of the people,
the guide of his life.'"

"Well," said Mrs. Howard, smiling, "if I were your oracle, and you were
to put the same question to me, I think I should make you nearly the same
answer; except that I should change the word genius into good sense; and,
instead of _the people_, I should say _the world_, which, in general, I
think, means all the _silly people_ of one's acquaintance. Farewell: now
go to the Westminster world."

Westminster was quite a new world to young Howard. The bustle and noise
at first astonished his senses, and almost confounded his understanding;
but he soon grew accustomed to the din, and familiarized to the sight of
numbers. At first, he thought himself much inferior to all his
companions, because practice had given them the power of doing many
things with ease, which to him appeared difficult, merely because he had
not been used to them. In all their games and plays, either of address or
force, he found himself foiled. In a readiness of repartee, and a certain
ease and volubility of conversation, he perceived his deficiency; and
though he frequently was conscious that his ideas were more just, and his
arguments better, than those of his companions, yet he could not at first
bring out his ideas to advantage, or manage his arguments so as to stand
his ground against the mixed raillery and sophistry of his school
fellows. He had not yet the tone of his new society, and he was as much
at a loss as a traveller in a foreign country, before he understands the
language of a people who are vociferating round about him. As fast,
however, as he learned to translate the language of his companions into
his own, he discovered that there was not so much meaning in their
expressions as he had been inclined to imagine whilst they had remained
unintelligible: but he was good-humoured and good-natured, so that, upon
the whole, he was much liked; and even his inferiority, in many little
trials of skill, was, perhaps, in his favour. He laughed with those that
laughed at him, let them triumph in his awkwardness, but still persisted
in new trials, till at last, to the great surprise of the spectators, he
succeeded.

The art of boxing cost him more than all the rest; but as he was neither
deficient in courage of mind nor activity of body, he did not despair of
acquiring the _necessary_ skill in this noble science--necessary, we say,
for Charles had not been a week at Westminster before he was made
sensible of the necessity of practising this art in his own defence. He
had yet a stronger motive; he found it necessary for the defence of one
who looked up to him for protection.

There was at this time at Westminster, a little boy of the name of
Oliver, a Creole, lively, intelligent, open-hearted, and affectionate in
the extreme, but rather passionate in his temper, and adverse to
application. His _literary_ education had been strangely neglected before
he came to school, so that his ignorance of the common rudiments of
spelling, reading, grammar, and arithmetic, made him the laughing-stock
of the school. The poor boy felt inexpressible shame and anguish; his
cheek burned with blushes, when every day, in the public class, he was
ridiculed and disgraced; but his dark complexion, perhaps, prevented
those blushes from being noticed by his companions, otherwise they
certainly would have suppressed, or would have endeavoured to repress,
some of their insulting peals of laughter. He suffered no complaint or
tear to escape him in public; but his book was sometimes blistered with
the tears that fell when nobody saw them: what was worse than all the
rest he found insurmountable difficulties, at every step, in his grammar.
He was unwilling to apply to any of his more learned companions for
explanations or assistance. He began to sink into despair of his own
abilities, and to imagine that he must for ever remain, what indeed he
was every day called, a dunce. He was usually flogged three times a week.
Day after day brought no relief, either to his bodily or mental
sufferings: at length his honest pride yielded, and he applied to one of
the elder scholars for help. The boy to whom he applied was Augustus
Holloway, Alderman Holloway's son, who was acknowledged to be one of the
best Latin scholars at Westminster. He readily helped Oliver in his
exercises, but he made him pay most severely for this assistance, by the
most tyrannical usage; and, in all his tyranny, he thought himself fully
justifiable, because little Oliver, beside his other misfortunes, had the
misfortune to be a fag.

There may be--though many schoolboys will, perhaps, think it scarcely
possible--there may be, in the compass of the civilised world, some
persons so barbarously ignorant as not to know what is meant by the
term fag. To these it may be necessary to explain, that at some English
schools it is the custom, that all little boys, when they first go to
school, should be under the dominion of the elder boys. These little
boys are called fags, and are forced to wait upon and obey their
master-companions. Their duties vary in different schools. I have heard
of its being customary in some places, to make use of a fag regularly in
the depth of winter instead of a warming-pan, and to send the shivering
urchin through ten or twenty beds successively to take off the chill of
cold for their luxurious masters. They are expected, in most schools, to
run of all the elder boys' errands, to be ready at their call, and to do
all their high behests. They must never complain of being tired, or their
complaints will, at least, never be regarded, because, as the etymology
of the word implies, it is their business to be tired. The substantive
_fag_ is not to be found in Dr. Johnson's Dictionary; but the verb to fag
is there a verb neuter, from fatigo, Latin, and is there explained to
mean, "to grow weary, to faint with weariness." This is all the
satisfaction we can, after the most diligent research, afford the curious
and learned reader upon the subject of _fags_ in general.

In particular, Mr. Augustus Holloway took great delight in teasing his
fag, little Oliver. One day it happened that young Howard and Holloway
were playing at nine-pins together, and little Oliver was within a few
yards of them, sitting under a tree, with a book upon his knees,
anxiously trying to make out his lesson. Holloway, whenever the nine-pins
were thrown down, called to Oliver, and made him come from his book and
set them up again: this he repeatedly did, in spite of Howard's
remonstrances, who always offered to set up the nine-pins, and who said
it teased the poor little fellow to call him every minute from what he
was about.

"Yes," said Holloway, "I know it teases him--that I see plain enough, by
his running so fast back to his _form_, like a hare--there he is,
_squatting_ again: halloo! halloo! come, start again here," cried
Holloway; "you have not done yet: bring me the bowl, halloo!"

Howard did not at all enjoy the diversion of hunting the poor boy about
in this manner, and he said, with some indignation,

"How is it possible, Holloway, that the boy can get his lesson, if you
interrupt him every instant?"

"Pooh! what signifies his foolish lesson?"

"It signifies a great deal to him," replied Howard: "you know what he
suffered this morning because he had not learned it."

"Suffered! why, what did he suffer?" said Holloway, upon whose memory the
sufferings of others made no very deep impression. "Oh, ay, true--you
mean he was flogged: more shame for him!--why did not he mind and get his
lesson better?"

"I had not time to understand it rightly," said Oliver, with a deep sigh;
"and I don't think I shall have time to-day either."

"More shame for you," repeated Holloway: "I'll lay any bet on earth, I
get all you have to get in three minutes."

"Ah, you, to be sure," said Oliver, in a tone of great humiliation; "but
then you know what a difference there is between you and me."

Holloway misunderstood him; and, thinking he meant to allude to the
difference in their age, instead of the difference of their abilities,
answered sharply,

"When I was your age, do you think I was such a dunce as you are, pray?"

"No, that I am sure you never were," said Oliver; "but perhaps you had
some good father or mother, or somebody, who taught you a little before
you came to school."

"I don't remember any thing about that," replied Holloway; "I don't know
who was so good as to teach me, but I know I was so good as to learn fast
enough, which is a goodness, I've a notion, some folks will never have to
boast of--so trot, and fetch the bowl for me, do you hear, and set up the
nine-pins. You've sense enough to do that, have not you? and as for your
lesson, I'll drive that into your head by and by, if I can," added he,
rapping with his knuckles upon the little boy's head.

"As to my lesson," said the boy, putting aside his head from the
insulting knuckles, "I had rather try and make it out by myself, if I
can."

"If you can!" repeated Holloway, sneering; "but we all know you can't."

"Why can't he, Holloway?" exclaimed Howard, with a raised voice, for he
was no longer master of his indignation.

"Why can't he?" repeated Holloway, looking round upon Howard, with a
mixture of surprise and insolence. "You must answer that question
yourself, Howard: I say he can't."

"And I say he can, and he shall," replied Howard; "and he _shall_ have
time to learn: he's willing, and, I'll answer for it, able to learn; and
he shall not be called a dunce; and he shall have time; and he shall have
justice."

"Shall! shall! shall!" retorted Holloway, vociferating with a passion of
a different sort from Howard's. "Pray, sir, who allowed you to say shall
to me? and how dare you to talk in this _here_ style to me about
justice?--and what business have you, I should be glad to know, to
interfere between me and my fag? What right have you to him, or his time
either? And if I choose to call him a dunce forty times a day, what then?
he is a dunce, and he will be a dunce to the end of his days, I say, and
who is there thinks proper to contradict me?"

"I," said Howard, firmly; "and I'll do more than contradict you--I'll
prove that you are mistaken. Oliver, bring your book to me."

"Oliver, stir at your peril!" cried Holloway, clinching his fist with a
menacing gesture: "nobody shall give any help to my fag but myself, sir,"
added he to Howard.

"I am not going to help him, I am only going to prove to him that he may
do it without your help," said Howard.

The little boy sprang forward, at these words, for his book; but his
tormentor caught hold of him, and pulling him back, said, "He's my fag!
do you recollect, sir, he's my fag?"

"Fag or no fag," cried Howard, "you shall not make a slave of him."

"I will! I shall! I will!" cried Holloway, worked up to the height
of tyrannical fury: "I will make a slave of him, if I choose it-a
negro-slave, if I please!"

At the sound of negro-slave, the little Creole burst into tears. Howard
sprang forward to free him from his tyrant's grasp: Holloway struck
Howard a furious blow, which made him stagger backwards.

"Ay," said Holloway, "learn to stand your ground, and fight, before you
meddle with me, I advise you."

Holloway was an experienced pugilist, and he knew that Howard was not;
but before his defiance had escaped his lips, he felt his blow returned,
and a battle ensued. Howard fought with all his _soul_; but the _body_
has something to do, as well as the soul, in the art of boxing, and his
body was not yet a match for his adversary's. After receiving more blows
than Holloway, perhaps, could have borne, Howard was brought to the
ground.

"Beg my pardon, and promise never to interfere between me and my fag any
more," said Holloway, standing over him triumphant: "ask my pardon."

"Never," said the fallen hero: "I'll fight you again, in the same cause,
whenever you please; I can't have a better;" and he struggled to rise.

Several boys had, by this time, gathered round the combatants, and many
admired the fortitude and spirit of the vanquished, though it is
extremely difficult to boys, if not to men, to sympathize with the
beaten. Every body called out that Howard had had enough for that night;
and though he was willing to have renewed the battle, his adversary was
withheld by the omnipotence of public opinion. As to the cause of the
combat, some few inquired into its merits, but many more were content
with seeing the fray, and with hearing, vaguely, that it began about
Howard's having interfered with Holloway's fag in an impertinent manner.

Howard's face was so much disfigured, and his clothes were so much
stained with blood, that he did not wish to present himself such a
deplorable spectacle before his aunt; besides, no man likes to be seen,
especially by a woman, immediately after he has been beaten; therefore,
he went directly to bed as soon as he got home, but desired that one of
his companions, who boarded at Mrs. Howard's, would, if his aunt inquired
for him at supper, tell her "that he had been beaten in a boxing match,
but hoped to be more expert after another lesson or two." This lady did
not show her tenderness to her nephew by wailing over his disaster: on
the contrary, she was pleased to hear that he had fought in so good a
cause.

The next morning, as soon as Howard went to school, he saw little Oliver
watching eagerly for him.

"Mr. Howard--Charles," said he, catching hold of him, "I've one word to
say: let him call me dunce, or slave, or negro, or what he will, don't
you mind any more about me--I can't bear to see it," said the
affectionate child: "I'd rather have the blows myself, only I know I
could not bear them as you did."

Oliver turned aside his head, and Howard, in a playful voice, said, "Why,
my little Oliver, I did not think you were such a coward: you must not
make a coward of me."

No sooner did the boys go out to play in the evening, than Howard called
to Oliver, in Holloway's hearing, and said, "If you want any assistance
from me, remember, I'm ready."

"You may be ready, but you are not able," cried Holloway, "to give him
any assistance--therefore, you'd better be quiet: remember last night."

"I do remember it perfectly," said Howard, calmly.

"And do you want any more?--Come, then, I'll tell you what, I'll box with
you every day, if you please, and when you have conquered me, you shall
have my fag all to yourself, if you please; but, till then, you shall
have nothing to do with him."

"I take you at your word," said Howard, and a second battle began. As we
do not delight in fields of battle, or hope to excel, like Homer, in
describing variety of wounds, we shall content ourselves with relating,
that after five pitched battles, in which Oliver's champion received
bruises of all shapes and sizes, and of every shade of black, blue,
green, and yellow, his unconquered spirit still maintained the justice of
his cause, and with as firm a voice as at first he challenged his
constantly victorious antagonist to a sixth combat.

"I thought you had learned by this time," said the successful pugilist,
"that Augustus Holloway is not to be conquered by one of _woman breed_."
To this taunt Howard made no reply; but whether it urged him to superior
exertion, or whether the dear-bought experience of the five preceding
days had taught him all the caution that experience only can teach, we
cannot determine; but, to the surprise of all the spectators, and to the
lively joy of Oliver, the redoubted Holloway was brought, after an
obstinate struggle, fairly to the ground. Every body sympathized with the
generous victor, who immediately assisted his fallen adversary to rise,
and offered his hand in token of reconciliation. Augustus Holloway,
stunned by his fall, and more by his defeat, returned from the field of
battle as fast as the crowd would let him, who stopped him continually
with their impertinent astonishment and curiosity; for though the boasted
unconquerable hero had pretty evidently received a black eye, not one
person would believe it without looking close in his face; and many would
not trust the information of their own senses, but pressed to hear the
news confirmed by the reluctant lips of the unfortunate Augustus. In the
meantime, little Oliver, a fag no longer, exulting in his liberty,
clapped his joyful hands, sang, and capered round his deliverer.--"And
now," said he, fixing his grateful, affectionate eyes upon Howard, "you
will suffer no more for me; and if you'll let me, I'll be your fag. Do,
will you? pray let me! I'll run of your errands before you can say one,
two, three, and away: only whistle for me," said he, whistling, "and I'll
hear you, wherever I am. If you only hold up your finger when you want
me, I'm sure I shall see it; and I'll always set up your nine-pins, and
fly for your ball, let me be doing what I will. May I be your fag?"

"Be my _friend_!" said Howard, taking Oliver in his arms, with emotion
which prevented him from articulating any other words. The word friend
went to the little Creole's heart, and he clung to Howard in silence. To
complete his happiness, little Oliver this day obtained permission to
board at Mrs. Howard's, so that he was now constantly to be with his
protector. Howard's friendship was not merely the sudden enthusiasm of a
moment; it was the steady persevering choice of a manly mind, not the
caprice of a school-boy. Regularly, every evening, Oliver brought his
books to his friend, who never was too busy to attend to him. Oliver was
delighted to find that he understood Howard's manner of explaining: his
own opinion of himself rose with the opinion which he saw his instructor
had of his abilities. He was convinced that he was not doomed to be a
dunce for life; his ambition was rekindled; his industry was encouraged
by hope, and rewarded by success. He no longer expected daily punishment,
and that worst of all punishments, disgrace. His heart was light, his
spirits rose, his countenance brightened with intelligence, and resumed
its natural vivacity: to his masters and his companions he appeared a new
creature. "What has inspired you?" said one of his masters to him one
day, surprised at the rapid development of his understanding--"what has
inspired you?"

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